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A small sign on the upper level door was the only indication that Cal Burke did business here. And how much business could he do, really? The only way into his shop was via the rutted lane that ran along a hedge of overgrown lilacs that bordered the house. She glanced toward the road. Yes, there was a tiny sign there, too, one that could hardly be read from a passing car. The man needed a few lessons in marketing.
She walked up the bank to the door and tapped lightly. Stepping inside, she inhaled the scent of wood shavings and hay. Music poured from a CD player that sat on a wooden bench. Cal apparently liked Mozart to work by. He bent over a pie safe, totally absorbed as he fitted a pierced tin insert to a door.
He obviously hadn’t heard her, so she glanced around, wanting to see any changes before she spoke to him. There weren’t many. In the center threshing floor he’d installed a workbench and tools, and the rest of the space was taken up with pieces of furniture in various stages of construction. The mows and lofts on either side already held hay and straw, probably stored there by Eli Zook.
She took a step forward, impressed in spite of herself by his work. They were simple oak pieces, for the most part, done in the classic style of Pennsylvania Dutch furniture. There was a three-drawer chest with graceful carving incised on the drawer fronts, a chest stenciled with typical tulips and hearts, a rocking chair with a curved back.
Cal did have a gift for this work, and he was certainly focused. Sun-bleached hair swung forward in his eyes, and he pushed it back with a sweep of one hand, all of his movements smooth and unhurried. He wore faded jeans and a blue plaid shirt, also faded, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A shaft of sunlight, beaming down from the open loft door, seemed to put him in a spotlight, picking out gold in his brown hair and glinting off tanned forearms.
She moved slightly just as the music stopped. The sole of her loafer rustled stray wood shavings, and he looked up. The pierced tin clattered to the floor, the sound loud in the sudden stillness.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“It’s all right.” He straightened, leaning against the pie safe, and watched her approach.
She hadn’t noticed his eyes last night. The light had been too dim, for the most part, and she’d been too upset. Now she saw that they were a light, warm brown, flecked with gold like his hair.
He waited until she stopped, a few feet from him, before he spoke again. “Any news from the hospital?”
“We called first thing. Rachel had a good night, and she’s awake and asking for us.” She couldn’t stop the smile that blossomed on the words.
“Thank God.” He smiled in return, strong lips curving, lines crinkling around his eyes, his whole face lighting. For an instant she couldn’t look away, and something seemed to shimmer between them, as light and insubstantial as the dust motes in the shaft of sunshine.
She turned to look at the furniture, feeling a need to evade his glance for a moment. She wouldn’t want him to think he had any effect on her.
“So this is your work.” She touched a drop leaf table. “Cherry, isn’t it?”
He nodded, moving next to her and stroking the wood as if it were a living thing. “I’ve been working mostly in oak and pine, but Emma Zook wanted a cherry table, and Eli had some good lengths of cherry that I could use.”
“It’s beautiful. Emma will be delighted, although if I remember Amish customs correctly, she won’t say so.”
A faint smile flickered in his eyes. “‘For use, not for pretty,’ she’ll say. Anything else might sound like pride.”
“That’s Emma, all right.” Nostalgia swept through her. Emma Zook had helped Grams in the house for years, and her sturdy figure, always clad in a long dress and apron, was present in Andrea’s earliest memories.
As children, they’d played with the Zook youngsters, so used to them that they never saw the Amish clothing or dialect as odd. She’d caught up a bit with Emma over breakfast. As she’d expected, all the children except Levi were married and parents by now. Levi—well, Levi would always be a child, no matter how old he was.
“The Amish have the right idea,” Cal said. “No reason why something can’t be both useful and beautiful.”
She traced the scalloped edge of the drop leaf. “This certainly qualifies.”
“Two compliments in as many minutes.” He drew back in mock surprise.
“I believe in giving credit where credit is due. You make lovely furniture. I just can’t help but wonder why you’re doing it in my grandmother’s barn.”
Where did you come from, and why are you here? That’s what she was really asking. How could this man have made such inroads into her family when she hadn’t even known about him?
He shrugged. “I came to this area to learn Amish furniture techniques. When I needed a place to set up shop, she had an empty barn. We came to an agreement.”
She’d like to ask what that agreement was, but he could answer that it wasn’t her business. Which it wasn’t, but anything that affected her grandmother and sister mattered to her, whether she’d been back recently or not.
“You’re not from around here,” she tried.
“No. I’m not.”
Most people liked talking about themselves. Cal Burke seemed to be the exception.
“You’re a little hard to find. How do you market your work?”
He shrugged again. “There are plenty of machine-made copies out there, but if people are asking around for good, handmade furniture done in the old Amish style, they’ll find me or one of the others who do it.”
“That’s no way to do business.” His marketing strategy, if that’s what it was, exasperated her so much that she couldn’t stop the words. “You have something people want, so make it easy to find you. You could probably double or triple your business if you did a little advertising.”
“I don’t want to double my business. There are only so many pieces I can make by hand in a month, and they sell okay. What am I going to do with more customers than I can satisfy?”
She blinked, looking at him. As far as she could tell, he was serious. “If you hired a few people to help you—”
“Then it wouldn’t be my furniture people were buying.”
“But you could make more money—”
He shook his head with an impatient movement that made the hair flop in his eyes again. “I make enough to get by, and I enjoy my work. Your corporate approach wouldn’t work for me.”
She stiffened. “If you mean I’m practical, I don’t consider that an insult. Although I suspect you meant it that way.”
“Just recognizing a difference in how we see things, that’s all.” His voice was mild, but his eyes had turned frosty. “If you came out here to tell me how to run my business, I thank you for your interest.”
“No.” She bit off the word. The world needed practical people like her. They kept the dreamers afloat. But she didn’t suppose it would do any good to tell him so. “My grandmother wants you to know that we’ll be going to the hospital shortly. She asks if you’ll keep an eye out for the painters and let them in.” Somehow it seemed important that he know the favor was for Grams, not her.
“I’d be glad to.”
“I thought she could call you, but she said you never answer your phone.”
“Really bugs you, doesn’t it?” His expression suggested internal laughter. “I don’t like to jump when the phone rings. If anybody wants me, they leave a message.”
She bit back another comment about his business methods. Or lack of them. Why should she care if the man frittered away his prospects for want of a few sensible steps?
“I see.” She kept her tone perfectly polite. “Thank you for taking care of the painters. My grandmother will appreciate it.”
She turned and walked away quickly, suspecting that if she looked back, she’d find an amused smile on his face.
“But I can’t. I really can’t.” Andrea looked from her grandmother to her sister. Both faces were turned toward hers, both expectant, waiting for an answer she couldn’t possibly give. “I’m extremely busy at work right now.”
“Surely your employer will give you the time off.” Grams was serenely confident. “Your family needs you.”
Rachel didn’t say anything. She just leaned back against the raised head of the hospital bed, her face almost as white as the pillow.
She’d tell herself they were ganging up on her, but that wasn’t true. They were depending on her, just as Rachel and baby sister Caroline had depended on her during those years when Mom had relocated the family from place to place, nursing her grudge against Grams and Grandfather and depriving her children of the only stable home they’d ever known.
Andrea was the oldest. She was the responsible one. She’d take care of it.
The trouble was, she was responsible to her job, as well, and there couldn’t possibly be a worse time for her to take off. Gordon Walker would not understand his right-hand woman requesting a leave to help her family. He hadn’t even taken time away from work when his wife was in labor with their twins.
Of course, he and his wife were now divorced, and he saw his daughters once a month if he was lucky.
She tried again. “I’m in the middle of a very important project, and I’m on a deadline. I couldn’t take time off now. It wouldn’t be fair to the company.”
It wasn’t fair to her, either. Maybe that thought was unworthy, but she couldn’t help it. The promotion her boss had been dangling in front of her for the past year would be hers when this project was completed. Her position with the company, her stable, secure life, would be assured.
“Can’t someone else take over for you?” Grams’s brow furrowed. “We’ve already accepted reservations for our opening weekend. All the rooms are booked. We can’t turn those people away now.”
Grams’s sense of hospitality was obviously offended at the thought, even though these would be paying guests. Andrea could see it in her eyes. An Unger didn’t let people down.
I’m a Hampton, too. She thought bleakly of her father. They’re pretty good at letting people down.
Rachel tried to push herself up on the bed a little, wincing, and Andrea hurried to help her.
“Take it easy. I don’t think you should try to do that on your own. Those casts must weigh a ton.”
“If they don’t, they feel like it.” Rachel moved her head restlessly on the pillow.
Looking into Rachel’s eyes was like looking in a mirror. Green eyes, cat’s eyes. All three Hampton girls had them, even though otherwise they didn’t look at all alike.
She was the cool, conservative blonde. That was how people saw her, and she didn’t find anything wrong with that. It fit with who she wanted to be.
Rachel, two years younger, was the warm one, with her heart-shaped face and her sunny-brown hair. She had the gift of making friends and collecting strays everywhere she went. Sweet, generous, she was the family peacemaker, always the buffer.
And they’d needed a buffer, she and Caroline. Her youngest sister had been born an exotic orchid in a family of daisies. She certainly looked the part. In her, the green eyes sparkled and shot fire. Her hair, a rich, deep red, had been worn in a mass of curls to below her shoulders the last time Andrea had seen her. Currently, as far as she knew, Caroline was making pottery in Taos. Or maybe it was turquoise jewelry in Santa Fe. Andrea couldn’t keep up.
“I could come home in a wheelchair. We could get some extra help and I could supervise.” But the tears that shone in Rachel’s eyes belied the brave words, and she thumped one hand against the side rail of the bed, making the IV clatter.
“Honey, don’t.” Andrea caught the restless hand, her heart twisting. “It’ll be all right.”
But how would it be all right? How could she be true to herself and yet not let them down?
Rachel clung to her, much as she had when Mom had taken them away from Grams and Grandfather so many years ago. “You mean you’ll do it?”
“We’ll find some way of handling the situation. I promise.”
Rachel gave a little sigh, relaxing a bit, though worry still puckered her brows.
“Good,” Grams said. “I knew we could count on you.”
She’d told her boss she couldn’t be back until Monday, though she’d continue working while she was here. She was only a phone call or an e-mail away, after all. By then, she’d somehow convince Grams and Rachel that with Rachel laid up for who knows how long, starting a bed-and-breakfast didn’t make sense.
A glance at Rachel’s face assured her that now was not the time to mention that. Rachel was far too fragile.
She’d discuss it with Grams later. Giving up the inn was the best thing for everyone, especially Rachel. Once she was healed, she could get another restaurant job in a minute with her skills, and if she needed help to get through until then, Andrea or Grams would certainly provide that.
Right now she had to do something to wipe that strained expression from Rachel’s eyes. “Did you hear about my adventure getting here last night? Rescued from a ditch by your handsome tenant. Hope you don’t mind my using your car while mine’s in the body shop.”
“Grams told me Cal brought you to the hospital. He is a hunk, isn’t he?” Some of the tension eased out of the pale face. “So, you interested, big sis?”
“I wouldn’t want to tread on your territory.” She smiled. “We made a deal a long time ago, remember? No boyfriend poaching.”
“Sad to say, Cal doesn’t see me as anything but little-sister material.” She wrinkled her nose. “I have to admit, when I first met him, I thought there might be something, but the chemistry just isn’t there.”
Andrea didn’t bother to analyze why she was relieved. “I understand he’s been around for about a year?” She made it a question for both of them.
“Just about,” Grams agreed. “He stayed over at the Zimmerman farm for a while, I think, when he first came to the area.”
“You never mentioned renting the barn to him when we talked.” Grams and Rachel had come into the city for dinner just a month ago, but in all their talk about the inn, they hadn’t brought up their resident tenant.
“Didn’t we? I thought you knew about him.”
The vagueness of it got under her skin. “Where did he come from? What did he do before? What does Uncle Nick think of him?” Her grandfather’s business partner had a solid, no-nonsense attitude that Grams lacked.
“I don’t know. Does it matter?” Grams frowned a little, as if Andrea had said something impolite. “And it’s not James Bendick’s business.”
Rachel moved slightly. “He’s a nice guy. That’s all we need to know.”
It wasn’t all she needed to know. Perhaps the truth was that Grams hadn’t mentioned him because she’d known exactly the questions Andrea would ask and didn’t want to answer them. Grams did things her own way, and she’d never appreciated unsolicited advice.
“I believe I’ll get some coffee.” Grams stood, picking up her handbag.
“I’ll get it for you, Grams,” she offered.
Her grandmother shook her head. “You stay here and talk to Rachel. I want to stretch my legs a bit.”
Andrea watched her leave, her heart clutching a little. Grams wouldn’t admit it, but she was slowing down. Grams had always been so strong, so unchanging, that age had sat lightly upon her. It had seemed she would never let it get the better of her. But that had been an illusion.
A weight settled on Andrea’s shoulders. She had to make the right decisions now. Rachel, Grams—she was responsible for both of them.
“Are you okay, Dree?”
She shook off the apprehension before she turned to look at her sister. “Sure. Just worried about you. Did the police talk to you about the accident?”
Rachel nodded. “The township chief was in before you got here. It doesn’t sound as if they have much evidence. He wanted to know if I remembered anything.”
“Do you?”
Rachel moved restlessly. “I don’t remember anything that happened after about noon yesterday.”
THREE
Cal let himself in the side door of the Unger mansion, toolbox in hand. He’d told Katherine that he’d fix the loose post on the main staircase, but that wasn’t his only reason for being there.
He’d been mulling it over, praying about it, most of the day. Prayer was still new enough to him that he wondered sometimes whether he ought to be asking for guidance about simple everyday things. Still, it was comforting to feel that Someone cared.
